Chip

For Chip: He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. —Unknown

Monday, January 28, 2019

The stylist called and asked that I come early. “Great". Get it over with and enjoy the rest of Sunday. I rushed over and do the usual which is “overall color”. The stylist is gone for quite some time before she retrieves two bowls of color. I knew something was wrong because she was gone a long time.

She starts to apply the color. I politely ask about her recent vacation and she explains that the airline tried to detain her in Mexico, and prevent her from boarding the plane. Before boarding she had one bottle of champagne and that was not enough to have any affect on her. However, after chatting with the airline personnel they suggested that she wait to board for an hour because they determined she was intoxicated. She explained all was well because she made such a scene that they reluctantly let her pass and board the plane. She did them a favor by drinking champagne instead of having a glass of whiskey and Xanax.

Color is applied, and I go to a rather stark room to wait. I am alone in the room because it is Sunday and the salon was closed. Before you know it the thirty-minute wait has turned into over an hour. Hoping that my slightly blonde locks do not fall out I wait for her to return. I wait and wait and wait. By now I am searching hair dye and side effects processing. Is it a phone call or what is going on?

I finally hear the clip clop of shoes coming my way and I am quite excited. She appears but looks angry. I need to get out as quickly as possible. I assume that she is having boyfriend issues and that assumption was correct. The boyfriend dropped her off and she did not have a car. He had gone off with some other men and was drinking. That sounded lovely. I could offer to give her a ride, but considering all the crazy incidents in the world and that she is packing sharp scissors I decided to stay out of it.

She points to a basin to rinse my hair. At this point I feel like she could be my mother and I just broke her best china. “God Knows” what she might do. As she rinses my hair with the hottest water tolerable I almost scream out, but decide to let her enjoy her technique. As she is washing my hair it feels like water is dripping down my back and I wonder how that is possible. When she is finally done I reach under the smock and not only is the whole back of my shirt wet but also the front. How could that be? She is a professional and there was a towel behind, but I will be home soon and just change my shirt.

It is time for my haircut that she suggested earlier. She grabs her phone and says she hopes I do not mind her calling her friend while cutting my hair. I suggest that I really do not need a haircut and we can do it later. However, that would mean less money for her. Good Grief! There are ear buds that make multi- tasking easy, but she prefers snapping her scissors a few strokes while she asks her friend for a ride. The suggested drop off is not at her residence, but at a club. My expensive haircut resulted in about four cuts….but at this point I don’t care. I just want to change shirt sand get out of this place and away from the heated lover. She dries my hair and I am hoping that my hair does not fall out while she is styling. I am relieved that another client walks in. I feel comfort in numbers.

It is time to pay but, her attachment for paying from her iPhone is broken and she disappears again. As I bend over to get my purse the salon chair goes forward in slow motion. I can feel I am falling towards the mirror. Aren’t these heavy chairs stabilized with screws or some reinforcement? Miraculously, I manage not to fall and bring the chair back up.

All the way home I debate whether I will ever return to this salon. At work this morning I greet my co-worker who had Lasik over the weekend and is in pain. Her eyes haven’t healed, but she energetically proclaimed that my hair dresser must be wonderful because my hair is beautiful.

“That is amazing!”. I explain that the stylist was having boyfriend issues, left color on my hair for over an hour, cut my hair while on the phone begging for a ride, and my blouse was drenched front and back which I cannot explain. My co-worker laughs, and I am concerned about her vision after Lasik. Maybe my hair is fabulous.

Did I give 20% tip for outstanding service? Of course, I did. Just another expensive day at the salon and what if I go back?